


that may be all i need

by freidacay



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Morning Sex, Reader-Insert, tra la la beware the woman who is bad at tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 08:07:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5449424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freidacay/pseuds/freidacay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Did I wake you up?" Sans asks, softly. He takes a seat on the bed, and the mattress dips under his weight.</p><p>You roll onto your back and reach out for him. </p><p>"Don't go," you say. You can't tell if your voice is husky from sleep or arousal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that may be all i need

**Author's Note:**

> Something short I wrote while I should have been doing more productive things. I actually planned to have this up earlier, but I messed up and AO3 ate a lot of what I had. Luckily I wrote this in my notebook (I know, I'm dating myself), but at that point, I was too frustrated to keep going.
> 
> My sincerest apologies for the title. It's adapted from Maroon 5's "Sunday Morning". I was sorely tempted to use the line "come on, rest your bones with me". I think we should establish that I am both horribly cheesy and really bad at titling things.
> 
> Enjoy!

You're already half-awake by the time Sans pulls himself out of bed, slowly enough that you know he's trying not to wake you. You sigh when his fingers brush through your tousled hair and trail down the curve of your back. He stands and patters out of the bedroom, and from the cracked door, you listen to him run through his morning ritual.

You have to stop yourself from frustratedly slapping your hand into the mattress.

You miss him. Even though he's just down the hall, you miss him. It seems like your schedules are never in alignment. On Sans' off-days, you either have classes or work. On your off days, Sans has work, and more work—being a bouncer is a full-time job for a bar that is open most days of the week, and there are always hotheaded humans just gagging to try and challenge one of the monsters who had dared to "take their jobs".

When your class had let out early yesterday, you'd been quick to race to the house Sans shared with his brother—who is, blessedly enough, spending the week at Toriel's house—to spend time with him. When you had retired to the bedroom for the night, you had tried everything you could to try and wear him out. It was an irrational thing, you knew. You'd somehow believed that if he spent the entire night with you, he wouldn't want to leave in the morning. You're free today. You almost wish you could go to work with him.

You feel just a bit like a petulant child. Your mild embarrassment is soothed by memories of last night, from the first frenzied coupling to the slow explorations afterwards. You remember taking Sans into your mouth; you remember how his tongue felt on you. You remember how exposed you had felt with your bottom in the air as he'd taken you from behind, how loudly you'd cried out with each thrust.

By the time Sans returns to the room, no doubt to wake you as he always does before leaving, you're pressing your thighs together against the warmth coiling between them.

"Did I wake you up?" Sans asks, softly. He takes a seat on the bed, and the mattress dips under his weight.

You roll onto your back and reach out for him. 

"Don't go," you say. You can't tell if your voice is husky from sleep or arousal.

"Aw, babe." Sans sighs, looking pained. The novelty of his expressiveness still hasn't worn off, even after all the time you've known him. Sometimes, it's easy to forget that he's a monster first and foremost, and not actually a skeleton.

"I wish we could just stay in bed all day." You confess.

He gives you a sad smile. "You're  _pa-_ telling me."

He smiles at your soft chuckle, and offers you his hand. On typical mornings, you hold onto it for as long as possible as he walks away, relishing in the smooth slide of his bone underneath your fingertips.

You only feel a little guilty for guiding it between your legs. You were already wet from your earlier thoughts, but Sans' answering expression, a mix of shock and approval, sends another shock of pleasure racing down your spine.

"Shit, you can't do that to me," Sans groans, even as he presses two of your own fingers inside of you. His thumb circles your clit and your hips jolt up involuntarily. You whimper in discontent when he removes his hand from you and stands up. 

"Sans," you whine. "Please don't go."

You thrust another finger inside, hoping the vulgar display will dissuade him from leaving.

"Calm down, I'm not goin' anywhere." Sans replies, soothingly. 

You watch him undo his pants—from where you can already see the outline of his arousal—and pull them down just enough to release his erection. A little while back, you had asked him why he rarely undressed when you had sex. He insisted it was because he didn't want to hurt you. (You'd been too shy to tell him that you wouldn't have minded much. As it is, you've become used to the feeling.)

Sans joins you on the bed. He moves your hand from between your legs and pulls it to his face. With a faint hiss, his left eye glows with the familiar light of his magic. His glowing tongue emerges from between his teeth and laves over your fingers, tasting your slick. He releases your hand, and you moan at the loss. He presses close, and open your legs to receive him, curling your hands over his shoulders.

"Nah. Let's try this..." Sans mutters.

He grasps your hips, and you squeal as he holds you to his front and rolls onto his back. You are quietly thrilled by how easily he supports your weight, and the subtle play of strength in his bones as he holds you to him with his hands splayed gently but firmly on your skin.

Sans grins up at you. "Since I'm gonna be late anyways, how about you set the pace?"

You blush fiercely at the implications behind that statement. You place your hands beside his head, and shimmy just a little, until his cock slides between your folds. You gasp and bite your lip, rolling your hips experimentally. The wet slide of his shaft against your clit, both hard and yielding, feels wonderful.

"Babe, you're killing me." He says, thickly. 

You whisper an apology, reluctantly rising up onto your knees. 

"But what—ah. What if I look weird?" You ask, pausing.

Sans throws his head back on a laugh. "Baby, I'm a skeleton." He says this like it makes everything okay.

It doesn't, but it sure helps. You can't help a sheepish grin. He continues to talk as you position yourself, supporting you with a hand on your hip. He plants his feet on the mattress.

"I only want to get a better view. To be honest, you dolook weird, but in a good way. You humans are soft. And  _you're—_ " He trails off on a moan when you curl your hand around the base of his cock giving him a quick tug and then a gentle twist, just the way you know he likes it.

And it's always this part that you anticipate more than anything. The pleasurable stretch as Sans enters you, the almost pained moan he always lets out. It feels different this time, fuller somehow, and you feel more exposed with Sans' eyes roving appreciatively over your body.

"Ready?" He asks.

"Yes." You answer, squirming in place.

He pulls you up until only the tip of his cock remains inside, and with a roll of your hips, you impale yourself on his length, and then again, sighing at the drag against your inner walls.

Sans thrusts up into you on each downward stroke. A high, keening whine is torn from your throat each time he bottoms out—the feeling borders on pain, but it's really a pleasurable ache at best. In no time, you find a rhythm that has your toes curling. Not too fast or too slow, it allows you to savor the girth of Sans' cock and the sweet ache that follows each outwards pull. He keeps up a steady stream of encouragement and dirty promises. He tells you how good you feel around him, how he loves the way you look when you take your own pleasure, how he's going to be thinking about this as he works. Each word spurs you own, ratcheting up your desire, until you place your hands on his chest for better leverage and increase your pace.

You can feel your orgasm approaching, can feel it like a burst of heat low in your belly and a tightening in your chest.

"Babe, hold up. Hold up."

You give a discontented moan when he slows your movements. He leans up and places his right hand on your back. He presses the palm of his left hand over your lower belly and the upper portion of your mons, and urges you to move.

"What are you doing?" You ask, obediently following along with each minute adjustment he makes to your respective positions. Eventually you feel a pressure that's vaguely familiar and not at all sexual. You gasp, mildly embarrassed.

"Sans, it feels like I'm gonna—" You begin. It's clear now what he's trying to find. You're surprised he knows what it is and how to find it, remembering how you had tried once before on your own and swiftly gave up.

"That's normal. Just relax. You'll like it, I promise, but only if you don't tense up. Do you trust me?" Sans asks, soothingly. His voice hitches when you clench around him involuntarily. You take a deep breath and nod.

Now, Sans' cock brushes a against a spongy area low inside of you with each quick thrust. The intensity of the feeling wanes only a little, into a building pressure that has you biting your lips against the almost guttural sounds it pulls from you. It's a strange, new feeling. You press your face into the curve of Sans' skull. Your rhythm is becoming jerky.

"Is this good?" Sans asks, turning his head so that he can speak into your ear. And you sense a hint of insecurity in his voice, but its deep, familiar register is part of what sends you over the edge. 

The strength of your orgasm surprises you. It's so powerful it borders on pain, and you burrow your face into Sans' collar as it washes over you, your hands curling tightly into the fabric of his jacket. Your hips buck wildly in the cradle of his lap, each convulsions of your insides sending a shudder up your spine. You're pretty sure there are tears glazing in your eyes.

"Woah,  _fuck,_ babe. Let go, it's okay."

When the ringing in your ears subsides, you are sheepish to realize that it's you that's making those weird sounds. You're worried that you sounded like a wild animal. Sans runs a hand up and down your trembling back and laughs.

"That was hot." He says.

You feel like you're made of pudding. You giggle into the fur of his collar.You feel his cock twitch in response to the contractions this causes, and you pull away to look him in the eye.

"You haven't cum." You point out.

"Yeah. Uh. It's okay. I need to be heading out anyways—" Sans is saying, as you pull off of his lap and lay yourself out on your back. You tug him into you by his collar.

"Shut up and fuck me." You command him, smiling big and lazy.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." He agrees.

You're still so wet that he slides back into you in one quick, easy movement. You cling to him,  your hands pressed into the back of his ribs.

You don't think you have another orgasm in you, but the sensation of being joined with him is still so good that it draws throaty moans from your throat. He won't last long, you can tell, and you feel a large swell of pride at knowing that you have such an effect on him. 

Sans cums with a few jerky, shallow thrusts, his teeth sinking into the soft skin between your neck and shoulder. You curl a hand around the base of his skull, cradling him close.

He sighs and rests atop you for a moment. You feel safe, with his body molded to yours. You also feel exhausted, and just a bit sore—maybe he was right about keeping his clothes on, but you like the soreness. The bruises that will no doubt form are tangible evidence of what happened, something beyond memory to sustain you through the day.

"I feel," Sans pauses, " _Boneless."_

You burst into sleepy giggles and slap his arm. "Oh my God. Go to work, you goober."

He laughs, and slowly slides out of you. You miss the feeling of him being inside almost as soon as you separate, but it is a good pain.

"Oh, and Sans?" You add, as he leans in to accept a kiss on his forehead. He lets out a questioning hum as he makes his way off of the bed.

"Think about me today. Okay?"

"I think about you all the time, silly," Is his reply, so immediate and absentminded that you know it has to be the truth. You smile, more happy about this than you have any right to be.

He gives you a cheery salute as he walks backwards towards the door, his eyes—now back to normal—roving over your bare form.

You snicker and blow him a kiss. He catches it with his hand, clutches it to his chest, and falls back into the door as if wounded. You let out a full-on laugh at this little display. The pleased smile that's on his face as he leaves is probably one of his most endearing expressions. 

You sure hope Sans changes his clothes. You should probably shower. If you don't, you're gonna be gross when you wake up. There's a million productive things you could be doing if you start your day right now. But your limbs feel like jello and you're almost giddy with happiness. There's a stirring in your chest that is completely new to you.

You pull the covers up over your body, pull Sans' pillow close, and settle down for a nap.

**Author's Note:**

> ~~I headcanon that Sans would research how to please a human partner~~
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> How's about you scream at me over at Tumblr? I have no idea what I'm doing! [:D](http://freidacay.tumblr.com)
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> sorry about the scarcity of puns. I was aiming for sweet and intimate and I didn't feel like a volley of jokes would fit? ;; shrugs. I hope this isn't too ooc for Sans.
> 
> Please share any thoughts, I'm always looking for improvement. Also, since this was self-beta'd and my grammar is Not That Good, please point out any glaring mistakes so I can fix them!


End file.
